Stories of the Past
by Rise Against713
Summary: With the upcoming battle weighing heavily on his mind, Eliwood sleeplessly wanders Castle Pherae and runs into Mark, a man whom he trusts completely yet knows very little about. Hoping to learn more about his friend's life, Eliwood asks Mark to tell him his story. The tactician agrees and reveals to Eliwood a troubled past. [Two-shot]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: The idea for this story has been in my mind for a long time and I've finally typed it up to share with you all. This story takes place at the very end of Chapter 22 (or 22x) of Eliwood's story. In the game, Eliwood meets with the Tactician in his room and straight up asks him about his past. Naturally, it fades to black and ends the chapter, leaving what Mark said up to our imagination. The part after the fade is what this story will cover through dialogue and a series of flashbacks to important parts of my interpretation of Mark's life.

So let's get the show on the road.

_Stories of the Past_

Part I

* * *

Lately, sleep was not coming easily for the young lord. For the last few months, events had been conspiring against the newly named Marquees, robbing him of something that he now understands he had been taking for granted. It started when his father went missing. Constantly worrying about the whereabouts of his father, why he left at all, and if his father was still even alive had weighed heavily on his mind. But Eliwood was an eternal optimist. He assured himself that his father was safe, had a perfectly legitimate reason for leaving Pherae, and would return home soon. Those happy, and admittedly naïve thoughts, would be crushed when the questions that distressed Eliwood were answered.

The death of his father was still a very open and large wound for Eliwood. It had only been a few weeks since Elbert took his last breath in his son's hands, and Eliwood had struggled to move forward emotionally from the events on Valor. At first, Eliwood blamed himself. He should have gotten to Valor sooner, he should have gone looking for his father earlier, he should have stopped his father from being a part of this ordeal at all. He should have done something.

But Ninian, bless her soul, snapped him out of his self-loathing. Everyone in their little army had tried to help him through this, and while the sentiment was comforting, Ninian did something that no one else did. She blamed herself. Eliwood was beyond baffled when she said it was her fault. Here was this innocent girl, who had been running from Nergal for so long, blaming herself for the death of his father. Eliwood ended up trying to comfort her by saying the thing that Hector, Lyn, Mark, and everyone else in the group had tried to make him understand. No one was to blame for his father's death but Nergal. Not Eliwood, not Ninan, only Nergal was at fault. That's when it finally sunk in.

After leaving Badon, Eliwood began the coping process. He knew he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity while a deranged villain like Nergal threated his world. Mourning would have to come later, especially after what Eliwood had learned only a few hours ago. Arch Sage Athos, the Living Legend himself, had explained to him and his friends to true extent of his enemy's power and what he planned to do with it.

So here Eliwood was, lying sleeplessly in his bed in Castle Pherae. Again.

Instead of staring at a celling all night, Eliwood decided to take a walk around the castle, hoping it would help take his mind off the impending battle with the Black Fang. Using a small candle to light his way, the young Marquees began to trek the castle he called home. Roaming though the corridors of his home began to flood Eliwood with fond memories of his childhood. In his youth, Eliwood would spend hours, sometimes days, just exploring the castle grounds. He was fascinated by the sheer size of the castle and it's seemingly endless number of rooms and hallways. He chuckled lightly, remembering how his mother loathed his passion for exploring. As he grew older, it became a game to Eliwood. He would often challenge his parents to find him while he hid in places that he believed un-findable. Elbert always found him with relative ease. Eliwood figured that Elbert, during his youth, must have shared his enthusiasm for roaming the castle. This love of exploration was only amplified when Eliwood was sent to study in Ostia. With a whole new castle to explore, and an equally venturesome friend in Hector, Eliwood's intrepid spirit continued to grow.

Eliwood's pleasant reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of rustling papers, scratching of a quill, and soft, incoherent, mumbling. Deciding he had no reason not to, the young lord indulged his curiosity and followed the sounds through the dark corridors of the castle. As the noises grew louder, Eliwood rounded a corner and saw light breaking through a door on the right side of the hallway. With fire light and shifting paper sounds pouring out of it, Eliwood stepped into the open door frame. What he saw was something that he was very accustomed to seeing in the past few months. At a table in the middle of the room sat the tactician of their brigade, Mark, sifting through layers of documents. Mark was so focused on his task; he was completely oblivious to Eliwood's presence.

'He must be preparing for the upcoming battle,' observed Eliwood as he took note of the maps, inventory lists, and troop rosters sprawled across the wooden surface. 'Lyn's right. This man is going to work himself to death.'

It had become a very common sight during their campaign to see Mark working on his battle plans for hours on end. This was a cause of concern for many of the members of their army, most specifically Lyn. She had expressed her frustration with Mark's work ethic many times throughout their journey. One instance in particular, Lyn had become so angered by Mark's seclusion she physically dragged him out of his tent, forcing the strategist to take a break from his meticulous work. It was quite the comical scene to the rest of the troops and it brought Mark a fair amount of ridicule. Hector was the most outspoken, commenting that a man shouldn't be so easily controlled by a woman. Eliwood however sympathized with Mark, knowing that there was no victory to be had when it came to dealing with angry women, especially one as stubborn and strong-willed as Lyn.

Eliwood continued to stand in the door frame pondering how long it would take Mark to notice him. Looking around the room, Eliwood saw Mark's trademark green cloak resting on a coat hanger as well as a messy, un-made bed indicating Mark also had trouble sleeping. Deciding that it could take hours until Mark noticed him on his own, Eliwood tapped his knuckles on the door frame.

Adjusting his attention from his work to the knocking sound at the door, Mark saw the red-headed Marquees. The tactician immediately stood and stammered, "L-Lord Eliwood. I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

Eliwood chuckled, "It's alright. May I come in?"

"Of course. Please, have a seat." Mark said as he gestured to the empty chair on his left.

By opening up his body, Eliwood was able to see the silver glint coming from the sheath of Mark's dagger on his right hip, normally hidden by his cloak. Eliwood had only seen Mark use the dagger on a few occasions when an enemy would attempt to sneak around the main body of their army and try to 'cut the head of the snake' so to speak. However, each time Mark would easily dispatch his enemy showing great skill with the weapon. When asked about his seemingly honed fighting skills, Mark would wave it off saying that he caught his attacker off guard making it look like he was skilled. Mark insisted that it was an unrefined skill that he picked up in his travels. Eliwood was never fully convinced.

Putting those thoughts in the back of his mind, Eliwood walked to the table while smiling and shaking his head. "Mark, I've told you many times that you don't have to be so formal with me all the time. You are not my subject, you're my friend"

Mark sheepishly ran his hand through his chesnut hair as he waited for Eliwood to sit before taking his own seat. "So _Eliwood_," Mark said, purposely emphasizing his given name with without his title, "what troubles you enough to keep you up so late?"

"I could ask you the same question." Eliwood gestured to the mess of papers on the table, "It seems our troubles are similar… We have quite the task ahead of us don't we?"

"Indeed," Mark replied nodding his head, "It's not every day you have to infiltrate a militaristic kingdom and stop a psychopathic wizard from summoning dragons."

Chuckling at the strategist' sarcasm, Eliwood moved the conversation forward, "Do you know Bern well?"

"Not particularly." Mark reached over to a book sitting on a stack of papers, opened it, and began flipping through pages looking for the correct passage. Eliwood recognized the book as Mark's journal. He's seen the tactician scribble in the tome many times but never asked what he was writing. Despite his curiosity, Eliwood knew that Mark was a very private person and Eliwood did his best to respect that. "I passed through Bern briefly last year, but I did write some of my general observations. Terrain, climate, flora, fauna, and other things like that."

Eliwood raised an eyebrow, "Do you do that for everywhere you go?"

"Absolutely," Mark continued to leaf through different pages, "and it's not just places. I take notes on strengths and weaknesses or our troops, strengths and weaknesses of our enemies, effectiveness of different weapons, honestly if I find something even remotely interesting or I think I could use the information in future battles I write it down."

Eliwood sat, nodding his head throughout Mark's explanation. He never knew Mark was so perceptive and thorough with his notes. In fact, Eliwood didn't know much about Mark's life at all. Other than his exploits with Lyn, Mark's past had been a complete mystery of the young lord. He stopped himself from just blurting out his question, and tried to think of a way to move around the question, hoping Mark would answer it himself. "Do you have notes like that on every country?"

"Not every country," Mark stated without skipping a beat, "I got this book in Bulgar right before that whole Ludgren affair so naturally most of my notes are on Lyncia, since I've spent most of the last few years here. After I left Calien, I traveled to Etruria and spend a few months there so I have a decent amount of notes on it as well. I also have some general observations on Sacae, Nantaba, and Valor. I've never been to the Western Isles, and like I said before I've only been to Bern briefly."

Eliwood noticed the omission of a certain country, "What about Ilia? You've never been there?"

Mark stopped flipping through his journal and sat silent for a few moments before responding, "I have been to Ilia I just… never found the need to take notes on it."

Seeing how Mark reacted, Eliwood believed he might have found an answer so he kept pressing a little further. "Why not?"

Mark kept up the façade of indifference but inside he was panicking. He was scrambling to think of an answer while avoiding eye contact with the lord sitting next to him. "Uh…. I don't-"

"Is that where you from?"

Mark stared as his journal and stayed silent. Seconds felt like hours as Mark could feel Eliwood's eyes on him. He didn't want to lie, but Mark wasn't sure if he was ready to tell the truth to anyone. 'He's going to find out sooner or later' Mark told himself.

After a few minutes of silence, Eliwood finally spoke again. "I apologize if that was too forward, I just-"

"No it's okay," Mark interrupted. The tactician sighed and placed his journal back on the table. "It's not really something I like to talk about."

Eliwood weakly smiled at his friend, "If it's difficult to speak of you needn't continue. It's just that we've spent so much time traveling together and yet I know so little about you. I want to learn more about you and your life."

Again Mark sighed, "I know. We _have _been through a lot and while I know quite a bit about you, you know next to nothing about me."

Eliwood frowned and shook his head, "I didn't mean to imply that you owe me anything, Mark. I'm simply curious about your life before I met you."

The strategist shook his head in return, "Whether or not you meant it, it's true. Hell, nobody knows about my past and yet you all continue to trust me with your lives by listening to my orders."

"You haven't told anyone about your past? Not even Lyn?"

The tactician lowered his head at the mention of their female companion. "Lyn knows more than anyone but a lot of what I've told her is distorted from the full truth or just a complete lie."

Eliwood was astonished to say the least. Everyone could see how close Mark and Lyn were and to suggest that Mark had been lying to her about his past was something Eliwood could have never imagined. "What does she know?"

"Well she knows, as you just deduced, that I'm Ilian and she knows that both of my parents are dead, both of those are true. I told her my father was a tactician, which isn't true at all, and I told her that I spent most of my life traveling the continent, which is true but she doesn't know the real reason why."

So many questions made their way through Eliwood's mind; what happened to his parents, what was his father if he wasn't a tactician, why had he been traveling is whole life, but the loudest question in his brain was the one he voiced, "Why are so instant about hiding your past?"

Another sigh escaped the strategist's mouth, "My past is something I am thoroughly not proud of and if a… certain person were to learn the truth, I don't think I'd ever be trusted again"

Eliwood guessed the 'certain person' was Lyn, and if Mark thought that revealing his past would cause Lyn to mistrust him, then his secret must have been major. "Well Mark, I assure you that no matter your past, I know who you are now and I trust you with my life."

Mark's head was still hung low, but a small smile graced his face at Eliwood's words. "Thank you, Eliwood. That really means a lot to me."

"Will you still tell me? I promise what you say will never leave this room."

Mark looked back up at the Marquees and stayed silent as he contemplated Eliwood's promise. "Alright," He answered, "just give me a moment to gather my thoughts."

Eliwood nodded, leaned back in his chair, and stayed silent so that Mark could concentrate. He could tell how difficult this was for Mark so he was going to try his best to not rush his friend into his story.

After another few moments Mark finally began, "Well as I said before, I was born in Ilia. I am the only child of two Ilian mercenaries. My mother, her name was Kira, was a Pegasus knight and my father, Isaac, was a swordsman. My mother retired from mercenary work when she became pregnant with me so that she could stay at home and care for me while my father traveled for various assignments."

"Was your father away from home often?"

Mark shrugged, "I couldn't really tell you. I was very young so I don't really remember much of that time. He wasn't gone enough that I didn't know who he was if that's what you mean. It didn't matter; staying at home with my mother did not last long."

"Why, what happened?"

"When I was about four years old my mother died from illness."

Eliwood was a bit taken back by the bluntness of Marks statement, "I'm sorry"

The tactician shook his head and continued, "Don't be. It was years ago, I've accepted and moved on from it. Besides, it's hard to mourn someone you barely remember. The only memories I have of my mother are brief flashes of her face and little things like that."

With the death of his father still fresh in his mind, it was difficult for Eliwood to imagine getting passed the pain to such an extent as Mark clearly had, he hoped time would help him similarly, but he decided to keep the story moving, "What happened next?"

"Well obviously, my mother's death took a heavy toll on my father. Not only did he lose his wife, but now he was alone to raise me. One of the earliest coherent memories I have is talking to my father at my mother's grave …"

* * *

_Cold was a word that could describe many things about the way he was feeling right now, physically cold because of the bitter weather that blanketed the frozen tundra of Ilia but also emotionally cold. At a hedge stone he stood, wearing green armor that covered his chest and shoulders, and a two-handed sword strapped to his back, its hilt stuck out of the brown cloak that covered his armor and the rest of his body. He stood there motionless, continuously reading the inscription on the hedge stone, still unable to fully comprehend the words etched upon its surface._

_Here lies Kira of Ilia_

_Loving wife_

_Caring mother_

_Honorable knight_

_May she rest in peace_

_It had been less than a week since the day Isaac's wife was tragically taken from him and the wound was no more healed than when it was first inflicted. The shock still hasn't quite gone away either. One day he was enjoying a good life with his beautiful wife and son, and the next, St. Elimine found it necessary to take the love of his life from him, leaving the traveling mercenary alone to raise his young boy. _

_He stood there, seeing the white mist escaping from his nostrils, simply dumbstruck, 'Kira I… I just…. don't know if I can go on without you.' Opening his cloak, Isaac laid his eyes on the silver sheath of the dagger in his hands. Her dagger. Before, it had been a simple side arm, just in case she ever lost her lance. Now, it was one of the only things he had left of her. Taking the dagger out of its sheath, Isaac admired the sheen of the blade. He scraped the pad of his thumb across the blade. 'Still sharp' he noted. It didn't come as a surprise. Even though Kira almost never used the blade, Isaac knew that his wife was always prepared for combat and she would be caught dead before she was caught with a dull weapon on the battlefield. _

_He wished he didn't understand how true that expression really was. _

_He continued to graze his thumb over the edge of his wife's dagger. He knew the knife would do the job he was contemplating. It wouldn't be hard at all to just take the blade and…_

"_Father?" _

_The sound of his son's voice broke Isaac out of his trance. Quickly sheathing the blade, the mercenary turned around to see Mark slowly trudging toward him, each step crunching the snow beneath the boy's feet. Isaac fastened his wife's dagger to his belt, knelt down on the snow covered ground to bring himself down to his son's height, and opened his arms. Seeing his father's actions, Mark quickened his pace and crashed into his father's embrace. With tears seeping out of his eyelids, Isaac held on to his son tightly. Guilt began to overwhelm the warrior as he realized what he just contemplated. He couldn't believe the thought of leaving his son alone on this world even crossed his mind. 'I have to stay strong. For Kira. For Mark.'_

_Isaac began to release his son from his hold, allowing Mark to take a step back and see his father's face. Mark lifted his small arm up to his face and wiped away the tears away from his eyes with Isaac's hands still firmly sitter on his shoulders. _

"_Father, why do people have to die?"_

_Isaac sighed and hung his head. Explaining death to a toddler was never something he could prepare for. He would just have to tell Mark what he believed and hoped his son would understand. "I don't know son. We all die someday, some sooner than others. St. Elimine decided that it was time for your mother to join her in the afterlife."_

_Mark crossed his arms and scrunched his face in anger, "Well I don't like St. Elimine. Mother should be here with us." The swordsman solemnly smiled at his son's naiveté, although he didn't disagree with the boy._

"_It's not like that Son. Your mother is in a much better place now, and no matter what we do we can't bring her back. But don't worry, your mother is watching over us in heaven. The best we can do now is honor her memory and keep looking toward the future. It's what she would have wanted." By the end of his explanation, Isaac wasn't sure if it was just his son he was trying to convince._

_Mark's face softened as he brought his eyes back down to the white surface beneath him. Isaac held his son's shoulders tightly knowing how difficult it must be for Mark's young mind to comprehend such a mature topic._

"_What's gonna happen now?" Mark said to the ground._

_Isaac sighed and looked off into the distance, "I don't know, Son. I don't know." Isaac looked back to his son, brought his finger to the toddler's chin and lifted Mark's face back up, "But what I do know is that we will get through this. Together, okay?"_

_Isaac gave his son a reassuring smile and Mark responded with a smile of his own. "Okay Father."_

_The swordsman placed his hand on Mark's head and ruffled his hair. "I love you Son and so does your mother. Never forget that. Now come on," Isaac stood, picked his son up, and placed the boy on his shoulders, "Let's go."_

_Walking away from his beloved's grave, Isaac embraced the weight on his shoulders, both the physical and the metaphorical one. 'I will live on Kira. I will raise our son into a truly great man, one that you would be proud of. So you rest easy and leave this to me."_

* * *

Mark recalled the memory all too well. So much so it still brought back a fair amount of pain, albeit none that Mark couldn't handle. Eliwood had stayed silent throughout Mark's memory, not wanting to interrupt the tactician. After a few moments of pause, Mark began again, "So with my mother gone, Father decided that I would travel with him."

Eliwood's eyes widened, "Wait your father took you on mercenary missions while you were a child?"

"No it wasn't like that. See…" Mark paused to gather his thoughts, "The Ilian Mercenary Guild works as an intermediate between clients and the soldiers. People contact the guild with a job and the guild assigns that job to members of the guild based on difficulty of the mission, skill of the soldier, and other things like that. So with no need for us to stay in Ilia, my father became a freelance mercenary. We would travel the continent together, finding clients for him and when he got a job I would be left in another's care for the duration of his mission. Sometimes it was the noble that hired him but, more often than not, I would be left in the care of Elimine monks; he wanted me to learn reading and writing, and while we traveled together, he would teach me some basic defense techniques."

Mark reached to his belt, unsheathed the silver blade, and held it up for his companion to see, "This dagger was the first weapon my father taught me to use. It actually was my mother's."

Mark returned the knife to its sheath as Eliwood crossed his arms, "So it isn't just some skill you picked up after all? I knew it."

It took Mark a moment, but when he understood what Eliwood was referring to, he nervously laughed. "Hehe. Yeah not my best lie. I'm sorry. There's a reason, trust me. We'll get there." Eliwood smirked and nodded, signaling Mark to continue.

"Anyway after I was proficient with the dagger, and grew up a little, my father began to train me to be a mercenary. He taught he taught me the basics of bows, axes, and lances, basic survival skills, and some standard tactics. But the majority or my training was in swordsmanship. By the time I was 15 I started joining my father on missions and I was a full-fledged mercenary. We traveled together, fighting side-by-side for about 2 years." Mark ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "Then my father was killed and it all came crashing down."

Eliwood leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, "What happened?"

Mark took a deep breath, "We were in a farming town in northwest section of Etruria. Nothing was very special about the village; we just needed a place to stay for a bit between missions. One night though, the village became a target, and we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

* * *

_As the sounds of metal clashing, burning wood, and screaming villagers filled the air of the small Etruian borough, Mark tried his best to block out all of the chaos surrounding him and focus on his objective: find as many villagers he can and get them the hell out of here. Having already lead several families away from the raiders, Mark continued to dash from house to house, with his sword in hand, looking for any lingering village people unable to escape their homes during the bandit assault._

_Slashing though a few unskilled brigands still wandering the streets looking for their plunder, Mark noticed the door of the house on the end of the street was bashed open with an axe. Knowing he hadn't been to that house yet, Mark sprinted to the open door while silently praying that he wasn't too late._

_He pushed through the threshold of the doorway and saw the body of man lying to left of the entrance. He looked to the right and saw a woman huddled up in the far corner of the house, holding a young child in her arms as an axe wielding man lumbered towards them. The young mercenary hurried towards the bandit. _

"_Oh don't worry lil' boy. I'll take real good care of your mum. Be real gentle and everythi-AAAHH!" The lecherous tone of his voiced was silenced by the blade erupting through his chest. He fell to the ground in a heap after Mark slid his sword out of the body. _

_Mark stepped over the felled bandit and held out his hand to the trembling woman and her child. "It's okay. I'm here to get you out of here. Please, we have to hurry."_

_Still shocked from the all that transpired in front of her, The woman hesitated for a moment but still took Mark's hand while holding her quivering son in her other hand. Mark led the mother and son back up the dirt road to the rest of the surviving villagers._

_Mark was still dealing with the shock of all that had happened as well. What started as a peaceful night in the small farming village, turned into a nightmare beyond anyone's belief. The limited Etrurian military presence was easily overwhelmed by the invading bandits. The surviving soldiers worked as best they could to evacuate the village of as many innocents as possible. Isaac and Mark were in the local tavern, preparing for sleep when the first screams were heard from dying townsfolk. The mercenaries immediately sprang into action to protect the people inside the tavern. Coordinating with the remaining Etruian soldiers, Isaac and Mark began evacuating the nearby houses and taking them to the outskirts of the town, knowing the bandits were much more interested in the goods left in the town. There, the remaining Eturian soldiers would escort them to the nearest military outpost where they would stay until further notice. _

_Mark continued to lead the two townspeople up the secluded road until they met the rest of the convoy, one that consisted of too few people in Mark's eyes. Seeing his father conversing with one of the soldiers, Mark let go of the woman's hand and she tearfully embraced Mark mumbling as many thanks as she could for saving her and her son's lives. As she assimilated with the rest of the surviving villagers, Mark turned towards his father who had finished his conversation with the soldier and was walking towards his son. _

_Isaac gave an approving nod and placed his hand on Mark's shoulder, "Is that the last of them?" _

"_I think so," Mark said as he looked down at the dirt. _

_As if he could read is son's mind, Isaac went on, "I know it's not as many as we'd like but we saved as many as we could. That is something. Don't let things out your control take away from the positives. We saved innocent lives today. Don't forget that."_

_Mark nodded but didn't take his eyes off his feet. _

_Isaac let go of his son's shoulder and looked back towards the burning village, "I'm going back to do a final sweep for any stragglers. I just finished talking with the Colonel and told them to start heading towards the base. I need you to go with them." _

_Mark snapped his head back up to look at his father, "What! You can't go back there yourself! What if you get ambushed or stuck in a burning bulidi-"_

"_Mark!" Isaac snapped. Mark stayed silent except for his heavy breathing. "This is not up for debate. I need you to stay with the soldiers in case the bandits follow them. Don't worry I can handle myself. Go back with the others. That's an order." The older mercenary began jogging back towards the burning buildings while Mark stayed still, staring at his father and clenching his fists. _

_Isaac turned around one last time and shouted, "Go! I'll catch up!" before continuing down the path. _

_Mark stood and watched Isaac re-enter the village, rooted to the dirt while he contemplated his next move. He knew it was more likely for his father to find too much trouble than he can handle than it was for the bandits to follow the group of villagers. But disobeying a direct order from his father was not something he could take lightly. He had been trained his whole life to follow his father's orders and never thought twice about it before. He contemplated the consequences for a few more moments before making his final decision. He ran back towards the convoy and went straight to the Colonel. _

"_I'm going with my father. Go. We'll catch up." Before the commanding officer could protest, Mark raced away back towards the town, his father already several minutes ahead of him. _

_Dashing though the streets, lined with bodies of villagers and bandits alike, Mark looked for signs of his father, knowing just shouting his name would only bring him unwanted attention. As he neared the town square, He began to hear the sound of clashing swords. Putting all his strength in his legs, Mark barreled toward the fighting. _

_Mark rounded a corner and found his father locked in a duel with a behemoth of a man. He stood a full head taller than Isaac, arms the size of tree trunks. He wore red clothes with spiked pauldrons, steel gauntlets, and a leather chest guard. He wielded a heavy claymore that Mark knew he would have no chance of wielding. A handful of bandits stood several yards behind the giant, observing the battle as well. Mark stayed hiding behind the wall to avoid being seen by the other bandits, and continued to watch the duel. _

_The giant man swung his sword across his body causing Isaac to jump back. Mark could tell that the giant was using his superior reach to keep Isaac at bay. The veteran mercenary weaved to the side, avoiding a downward slash, dug the balls of his feet in the ground, and lunged forward, poised to stab the brute in his chest. The bandit reacted quickly dropping his sword, blocking Isaac's sword with his left gauntlet and drove his right arm into Isaac's side. The blow sent the mercenary away from the bandit, landing in a heap several feet away from his opponent. _

"_Father!" Mark shouted, rushing over to Isaac's aid. _

_Isaac scrambled to his feet as his son ran towards him, "Mark, what the hell are you doing here?"_

_Before Mark could answer a deep laughter filled the air that caused both Mark and Isaac to turn to the colossal bandit. "Hehe well who's this then? This ya boy 'Zac? I never knew you had a kid."_

_Isaac snarled as Mark looked at back at to him, confused, "Father, who is he?"_

_Isaac tried to answer, but the bandit answered first, "The name's Ragnar and you better get used to it. Pretty soon the whole continent will fear my name." _

"_Keep dreaming Rangar. You're a fool if you think you can unite the bandit clans," Isaac responded, readying his sword for his next assault._

"_Oh it's no dream. I've already gotten more than a dozen bandit clans to submit to my rule. It's only a matter of time before every bandit in Elibe is under my rule," Ragnar bent down to regain his dropped blade from the dirt and point the tip at Isaac, "And no one is gonna stop me."_

"_Mark," Isaac stated without taking his eyes off Ragnar, "You won't stand a chance against Ragnar. If we would attack together you would only be a liability. Stay back." _

_The young mercenary wanted to protest but he could tell from his father's tone that this was an order. Having already disobeyed one of his father's orders today, Mark silently stepped back and tightened his grip on the sheathed sword strapped to his hip._

_The two combatants charged at each other. Ragnar brought his sword back and swung across his body, aiming to cut his opponent in half. Isaac saw his attack and dropped one knee to slide on the dirt, under the swinging blade. The mercenary held out his sword as he slid, hoping to clip the bandit's shins. Ragnar recognized this and jumped to avoid the coming slash. As soon as he landed, Ragnar spun to see Isaac dig his foot into the ground, using his momentum to nimbly spring himself back up a standing position. The mercenary tuned and re-engaged his opponent. _

_The duel continued in a flurry of trusts, slashes, parries, and dodges showing the skill both men possessed. Mark stood back and watched the whole fight, analyzing each and every move. Isaac had always praised his son for his exceptional perception and urged Mark to exercise it every chance he had. Mark immediately identified Ragar's weakness: his speed or, more accurately, his lack thereof. Unfortunately for Isaac, he wasn't fast enough to take advantage of this due to his age as well as Ragnar's superior size keeping him at a distance. It seemed only Isaac's experience and pure skill was keeping him in the fight causing a sinking feeling to grow in Mark's stomach. There was a very good change that Isaac would lose this fight. _

_The duel raged on as Mark internally panicked. He racked is brain to think of a way to help his father, but his father wasn't lying when he said Mark had no chance against the brutish bandit. While he could tell that he was faster than Ragnar, he had a disadvantage in size, strength, experience, and every other conceivable factor Mark could think of. He really would just get in the way. _

_Isaac ducked to avoid a high horizontal slash from his opponent. Ragnar recovered quickly and swung his blade with all his might. He aimed his slash lower than the last, forcing Isaac to block the strike with his own sword. The blow was too strong for Isaac to handle causing him to lose his balance to fall on his back. The veteran mercenary saw Ragnar preparing a downward stab and quickly rolled away from the bandit. Ragnar stopped himself form stabbing the ground and advanced toward the mercenary as he lifted himself from the dirt. He reared his sword back and prepared to thrust it forward into his opponent's abdomen. _

_Before Isaac could lift his head to face his opponent, pain erupted from his stomach. Noticing the large blade protruding through his stomach, He lifted his head and saw Ragnar's toothy grin barely a foot from his own face. The pain felt as if it was subsiding as Isaac's world began to fade. He prayed to St. Elimine, asking her to let Mark escape alive from this ordeal, as he took his final breath. His pupils receded into his skull and Isaac of Ilia was no more._

"_Nooo!" Mark screamed as he drew his sword and began charging his father's killer. All the analyzing and tactics were propelled out of Mark's brain and was replaced with searing rage. _

_Ragnar looked to the approaching boy and casually began to slide his sword back out of Isaac's body, allowing the dead weight to fall to dirt with a thud. He returned his attention to Mark and saw the young mercenary leaping at him, sword held high. The bandit swung his arm and slammed Mark in the stomach, knocking the wind out of the young mercenary and sending him aside. _

_Mark landed hard on his back as he struggled to regain his breath. He could hear the slow, heavy footsteps of the self-proclaimed bandit king coming closer. Before he could lift himself up, Mark felt his sword being kicked out of his hand and large fist grabbing a handful of his collar. _

_Being lifted off the ground, Mark's unfocused gaze met the grin of Ragnar. "This is only the beginnin', boy. My ranks grow every day and soon even the continent's militaries won't stand a chance against my hordes."_

_Mark tried to speak but only a cough escaped his lips. Ragnar chuckled and turned his head so that his ear mockingly faced Mark, "What was that, boy? Didn't get that."_

_Finally gaining his breath, Mark growled, "I will kill you." _

_Ragnar erupted into a deep belly laugh and turned to his fellow bandits who followed suit. "You? Kill me? Haha you've got spirit kid I'll give you that. But as you can see," Ragnar theatrically waved his arm back toward Isaac's body, "you are no threat to me. In fact, I'm not even gonna waste the energy to kill you."_

_The bandit tightened his grip on Mark's collar and lifted him a little higher, "You can be my messenger. Tell the world of my impending rule. Soon they'll be powerless to stop it."_

_Mark watched Ragnar rear his fist back and violently slammed it into his face. Everything went black before he could feel any pain from the punch._

* * *

**A/N:** I started this thinking it would be a one shot, but it got a little long for me so I broke it up into two parts. Don't worry, I have the second part fully written and I will post it in a week. I want give it a chance to breath a bit and see how well it's received. Should I get a lot of reviews, I'll post the second part a little earlier. So review.

One thing before I go: You'll notice I named the tactician 'Mark'. This was not for my benefit but for yours (my name's not Mark. My name's Dan). It's his default name and it's something we can all agree on. I don't know about anyone else but for me, when people name the tactician something made up that I have no idea how to pronounce, it's a real turn off and it makes it harder for me to enjoy that story. So if you're currently writing a story with the tactician (Awakening included) consider this my personal plea to you: Please just name your tactician Mark. If you don't like the name Mark, fine then name him Chris, Robin, Dan, any common name, or even just a name that actually exists. At the very least, make it something that's easy to pronounce. Also if you do make up a name, make it 2 syllables or less. If you think about it most male names have 2 or less syllables. (i.e. Mark, Hec-tor, Cor-mag, Ra-ven, Os-win, Ike, Chrom, Fred-rick, Hen-ry, O-wain, ect.) Please. It will make your story so much more readable.

Alright that's it for now. Remember to review and tune in next week for the trilling conclusion of _Stories of the Past_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Stories of the Past_

Part II

* * *

Eliwood watched Mark's face get lower every moment and noticed the moisture develop around his eyes as the story progressed. Eventually a few maverick drops escaped from his eye lids, slid down his face, and rolled off his chin, landing on the mess of papers below. Eliwood was also visibly distressed, as his friend's tale struck a very familiar chord.

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Mark sniffed and broke the silence, "Sorry. I don't think I've ever spoken about that night to anyone." After sufficiently drying his face, Mark moved on, "Anyway, I woke up at dawn the next morning. The Etruian soldiers had begun cleaning up the debris and the bodies," Mark shook his head and laughed lightly, "I almost attacked them when they tried to move my father's body."

"Trust me, I understand." Eliwood interjected.

Mark nodded and leaned back in his seat. "The villagers returned as soon as the Etruians deemed it safe. They worked to begin rebuilding their home so I stayed for a little while to help out how I could. After a few days to get settled back in, the villagers held a service to mourn everyone who had died during the raid. My father was honored as a hero. I was too but none of that mattered to me."

After a short pause, Mark continued, "There was only one thing that mattered to me anymore. I vowed, right then and there, that I would stop at nothing to avenge my father. I knew I wasn't strong enough to kill Ragnar as I was, so I dedicated myself to becoming stronger, faster, and a better swordsman. So that when I did fight Ragnar, I would make him regret letting me live."

Taken aback, Eliwood wasn't sure how to respond to that. Mark always seemed like a pretty happy person outside of battle. A bit anxious at times sure, but never had Eliwood seen Mark show anything resembling anger. He decided it would be best not to address Mark's emotions and to just move on with the story. "So did you continue mercenary work?"

"No," Mark replied, "No, I wouldn't get stronger fast enough had I stayed a mercenary. Besides, nobody was going to hire a seventeen year old merc who had never done a mission on his own. So instead I went to the one place I knew I could continuously practice my swordsmanship; arenas."

Eliwood suppressed a scowl. Fighting in arenas wasn't foreign to the young lord but he wasn't the biggest fan of them. Dirty, uncivilized, and downright dangerous, he couldn't imagine fighting in arenas for a living. "How long did you do that?"

"Almost three years," Mark answered and Eliwood cringed at the thought. The tactician noticed and laughed, "It wasn't as bad as you think."

Eliwood stayed silent and deadpanned at his friend. Mark caved, "Alright it was pretty bad at first but once I started winning more, I started to get a reputation and people treated me a lot better. I even got a stage name after a while. The Vagrant Vanguard they called me."

Mark sighed, "None of that mattered to me anyway. All I cared about was getting strong enough to kill Rangar. After 2 years or so I started really dominating the arena circuit and I became champion of several arenas around the continent. It was then when I felt I was getting strong enough to take him on. The only problem was I had no idea how to go about it. "

"What do you mean?"

"Well I couldn't exactly just walk into Ragnar's camp and fight him. I had to make a plan. So I spent almost another year continuing to fight in arenas and keep tabs on Ragnar's movements."

"How did you manage that," asked Eliwood.

"Well as you know, arenas are a hive for all sorts of bandits, pirates, and mercenaries so information on Ragnar's whereabouts was pretty abundant." Mark took a deep breath before continuing with a slight scowl etched on his face, "I was fighting in a tournament in Badon when got my opportunity."

Eliwood's eyebrows furrowed noticing Mark's tone and facial expression. "You make sounds as though that were a bad thing."

The tactician took a heavy breath before continuing, "It wasn't so much the opportunity itself that made it a bad thing, but rather who gave it to me…"

* * *

_Still hearing the cheers and shouts of the crowd behind him, Mark walked down the stairs leading down to the arena's waiting area. It was a dark room with a vendor stationed in the middle of the station, several uncomfortable looking cots on one side, and several training dummies flanking the other side of the merchant. With his blood still dripping down his arm, Mark walked to the vendor and laid several gold coins on the table. "Vulnerary," He grunted._

_The merchant silently slid the coins off the counter and replaced the coins with the vulnerary. Mark snatched up the small sack and walked straight to the cots. He swung his sword and scabbard off of his back and laid it down on the cot before landing hard on the rough bed himself. Mark opened the sack and began applying the healing salve to the wound on his arm. It stung at first, causing Mark to grit his teeth until soothing replaced the burn as his wound healed. _

_Mark thought back to the fight he just finished. He fought an arena veteran that was called 'The Magic Arrow'. The archer used enchanted arrows that simulated different magics, fire, thunder, wind, and light magic among others. Mark did his best to keep the battle close range but Magic Arrow got his distance on a few occasions. The wound on Mark's arm came from an electric arrow that gave the former mercenary quite the shock. Luckily for Mark the shock only lasted a few seconds allowing him to recover quickly and pull out the arrow, causing the wound that was currently healing. He bested his opponent by running at the archer with an inconstant zig-zag pattern, getting up close, and cutting Magic Arrow's bow string with a swing of his sword. Arrow forfeited immediately. _

_Applying the last of the healing balm to the gash on his arm, Mark was prepared to relax for a few minutes before collecting his prize money until two new arrivals to the lounge caught his attention. They were bandits, that much was clear from their clothing and the way they carried themselves. One had a large battle axe strapped to his back; the other sported two smaller hand axes on his waist. They were scanning the room as If they were looking for someone. The bandit with the large axe began looking at him, causing Mark to covertly shift his eyes to the side, allowing him to watch the bandits with his peripheral vision. The bandit that saw him quickly got his partner's attention and pointed Mark out to him. The pair began walking towards the cots and Mark tightened his grip on his sword. _

_The two brigands stopped as they reached Mark's cot, who kept his gaze away from the duo. After a few moments of silence, the large axe bandit spoke to get Mark's attention. "Oi. You're Mark, right? The Vagrant Vanguard?"_

_Mark kept his eyes forward, keeping the bandits in his peripheral as he replied, "Yeah that's me. Who wants to know?"_

_The lead bandit chuckled softly and answered, "Where are my manners? I'm Doran and this here is Bazab. We've been lookin' for you." _

_Finally turning to face his visitor, Mark addressed Doran directly. "Have you now? And what would two want with me?"_

"_Word around the arena circuit is that you're not very fond of Ragnar."_

_Mark kept his expression neutral as he silently analyzed his two potential opponents. This wouldn't be the first time he fought members of Ragnar's clan. He stood up to raise himself to the bandits' level, holding his sheathed sword in his hand. "Maybe. And what if I said that was true."_

_Doran laughed and spread his arms wide as if he was ready for a hug. "Well you'd be among kindred spirits, you would," He gestured to his partner and continued, "Me and Bazab here aren't very fond of Ragnar either."_

_Mark relaxed slightly but still stayed on guard and kept his right hand around the handle of his sword. "Is that so?"_

_The bandit laughed and lightly slapped Mark on his uninjured arm. "Ah don't be so tense, boy. We're not here to fight you," Doran made is way toward the empty cot next to Mark's and sat, Bazab shadowing him, "we just want to talk." The bandits sat and Doran gestured to cot Mark had been sitting on before._

_Mark hesitated for a few moments before retaking his seat on the bed. Doran was clearly the brains of this duo. Mark silently wondered whether or not Bazab could speak. Considering the bandit hadn't even opened his mouth to make a sound since entering the arena lounge coupled with his seeming reliance on Doran, Mark doubted it. He laid his sword on his lap and kept his fingers gripped on the handle, still not quite trusting the bandits. "Alright, let's talk."_

_This action didn't go unnoticed by Doran and he smirked. He moved on nonetheless, "So, me and Bazab here are members of the Taliver bandit clan in northern Bern. Ever heard of us?"_

"_I might have," Mark replied neutrally. Truth was he was very familiar with the Taliver bandits, having fought against them on several occasions during his time as a mercenary. He knew that the Taliver were the most ruthless, bloodthirsty, and savage bandit clan on the continent. All of those facts fell on deaf ears in Mark's mind. _

"_Well, as you know, Ragnar's been marching around the continent, spouting about," Doran threw is arms up theatrically, "how he's the 'Bandit King' and how 'all clans will submit to his rule." Doran lowered his arms and continued, "As you can imagine, we Taliver aren't too keen on that idea. So we've been planning on showing Ragnar just what happens when you try to make us submit to anyone."_

_Mark's attention was definitely peaked after that speech. This could be the chance he was waiting for but there was something still bothering him considering the nature of their meeting. Were they just recruiting every arena fighter to their cause? "So what do you want with me?" Mark asked. _

_Doran held up his hands and replied; "Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'I bet they're just going around, asking any random arena stiff to join them cause they need some front-line fodder for some kind of foolish head on charge.' Don't worry. We got plenty of man power and a full frontal war is far from our plan. No no, we're here for you and you alone."_

_Mark was mildly impressed that Doran answered the questions he didn't ask but the arena champion couldn't help but notice his actual question was avoided. So he asked again, "But why me?"_

_The bandit gave a deep belly laugh. "Haha why you? You're the Vagrant Vanguard! Champion of a dozen arenas across the continent and to top it all off, you hate Ragnar." Doran pointed a finger at Mark, "You ain't just some body, kid. You're a real warrior and there ain't a limit on those in a fight like ours. I'd say this is a match made in heaven." Doran rose from his seat, Bazab mimicking the motion, and extended his hand out to Mark. "So what do you say? Wanna put an end to that arrogant bastard?"_

_Narrowing his eyes, Mark analyzed the information in front of him. He wasn't going to be fooled by Doran's obvious attempt at flattery, although everything he said was true. They obviously did come here just to recruit him. Since many arena combatants were bandits and pirates, Mark's championships showed experience and success fighting against them, making him a very valuable asset in a war between brigands. The overwhelming thought in Mark's mind was that he finally got an opportunity to take down that murdering bastard. As much as he wanted to immediately take the offer, there was something he needed to assure was part of the deal. _

_Rising from his seat, Mark matched Doran's gaze. "I'll help you, on one condition." Mark leaded forward, shortening the gap between the two men, "I kill Ragnar. Personally." Mark leaned back and put his hand forward next to Doran's, waiting for his answer._

_Doran paused for a moment before a toothy grin appeared on his face. He enthusiastically grasped Mark's hand and gave it a strong shake. "Deal."_

* * *

Silence overtook the room as Mark finished. Eliwood couldn't hide his astonishment as his eyes widened as the story progressed. This didn't go unnoticed by the tactician as he broke the silence. "You weren't expecting that, were you?

Eliwood leaned forward and used his elbows to support himself on the table. "No, I most certainly was not."

Mark slowly nodded at the lord's understanding. "So, I left Badon with the bandits and headed to their camp in northern Bern. There we laid out our plan of attack." Mark pushed some papers to side revealing a map of Elibe. The tactician placed his finger on part of the map before continuing, "Ragnar had moved his forces into the mountains northeast of Sacae. He was mobilizing to move into the region and start pillaging Sacaen villages while recruiting more bandits on the way."

Pushing himself back up from the table, Eliwood leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Why Sacae? There isn't much there for him to gain."

"No there isn't but it's a stepping stone." Mark gestured back to the map. "Ragnar's group is based in northwestern Etruria. During my time in the arenas, Ragnar had either killed or recruited all the major bandit clans in Ilia. His next target was Bern and to get there he had to go through Sacae."

Eliwood leaned in and began pointing at the map himself. "Why would he go after Bern? I'd imagine their military would make them too strong a target."

"You'd think that, however, Bern's army is notorious for turning a blind eye towards bandit activity more times than not. It's part of the reason the Taliver are so successful," explained Mark. "It also makes Bern a prime location for any bandits leading to a high population of them. Ragnar's hope was to recruit many of the Bern bandit clans to his cause so he would have enough men to move into Etruria, whose army is much more focused on bandit control."

"So how did you fight him?" Eliwood asked.

"Well we starting attacking supply lines and ambushing raiding parties for a few months, but that wasn't doing as much as we'd hoped. So we thought up a plan to attack Ragnar directly." Mark rummaged through several pieces of paper until he found a blank piece. Accessing his eidetic memory, Mark picked up his quill and began to scrawl his drawing on the sheet of paper. "We did some scouting and found that Ragnar's main base camp was set up in the mountains that just north of Sacae. We observed the camp for several days before coming up with a plan of attack."

After he finished, the tactician turned the paper to Eliwood, showing him a simple diagram of the base. "The camp was barricaded from all sides by a ten foot high wooden wall, there were archer four archer towers spread out around the wall, and only one entrance that was guarded at all times. Because of that an all-out assault would have been disastrous, so we decided to infiltrate the base and sabotage the defenses from the inside."

After dipping his quill in the small bottle of ink, Mark further inscribed the diagram. "I lead a group of nine, four mages, four axe men, and myself. We took on the guise of bandits wanting to join Ragnar's army." Mark laughed and looked back to Eliwood. "Ragnar was so arrogant he just let us in when we said we wanted to join him." The strategist paused to add more detail to the map. He turned the diagram to Eliwood and spoke again, "We laid low in the camp until nightfall. Once it was dark, the mages in our group discretely moved to the archer towers, the axmen set up on the north side of the wall, opposite of the entrance to the fort, and I headed towards the gate."

The tactician shifted the paper back in front of him added several exes to the diagram, illustrating the positioning of his bandit squad and the rest of the Taliver forces outside the fort. Mark angled the diagram back to the Marquees and continued. "Once the mages were in place, they launched simultaneous attacks on the archer towers with Elfire magic. Burning down the towers was more of a distraction than anything and it opened up a path for me take out any bandits near the gate that didn't respond to the fire. Once I did that, I opened up the gate for our main forces to enter the camp, the burning towers is what signaled them to move in. Meanwhile, the axe men in my group began chopping away at the wall itself, opening up another entrance for the rest of our forces at the back of the camp."

Eliwood stroked his chin as he took in the details of Mark's operation. "So basically, drew them further into the camp so you can open the gate, which drew them to the front of the camp, which gave you time and space to bring in more forces behind them," he recapped. "That's brilliant!"

Mark nodded. "It was." He shrugged, "Bandits may not be scholars but when it comes to battle plans, they can be surprisingly clever."

The young lord nodded before doing a double take. "Wait, you mean you didn't come up with that plan?"

The strategist chuckled. "There are other strategists in the world, my friend"

Eliwood sighed and shook his head. "I know that. I guess I'm just so used to you coming up with ingenious plans, I couldn't dream of someone else coming up with good battle tactics." he explained with no small amount of sarcasm. "Seriously though, you weren't the tactician of the Taliver?"

After a brief pause, Mark answered, "Eliwood, I wasn't a tactician until I met Lyn. The only formal tactics training I had received until that point were lessons my father gave me as part of my mercenary training, all of it very basic and probably equivalent to the tactical training you've received."

To say Eliwood was floored would be an understatement. Mark wasn't a tactician before he met Lyn? Does that mean he lied to her about being one? Has he been lying about being a tactician this whole time?

Before Eliwood could voice any of his questions he saw Mark holding up his hand, signaling him to wait. "I know you must have a thousand questions and I assure you we'll get to them, but we're getting ahead of ourselves. Can you just wait a little longer?"

The young lord waited several moments before nodding to his friend, putting his thoughts in the back of his mind. He reminded himself of his earlier words to Mark; no matter what his past, Eliwood would continue to trust Mark with his life. He had earned that.

"Thank you," Mark stated. "So anyway, while the Taliver flooded into the camp, I headed up the hill toward Rangar's personal tent…"

* * *

_Mark darted through the bandit camp, slashing through any bandits in his path. The sounds of combat around him went unheard as the former mercenary tore through the chaotic battlefield. Even a raging war couldn't distract the young swordsmen from his objective, not when the completion of that objective was so close at hand._

_As he reached the summit of the hill, Mark was greeted with the sight of the self-proclaimed Bandit King locked in battle with a couple of Taliver axe men. Mark had to restrain himself from simply charging the brutish man and trying to drive his blade through his heart. No, he had to think this trough. He couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers because he acted rashly. Jumping into the fray with the axe men was out of the question. They're fighting style relied on brute strength and very little actual tactical thinking. Not only did they not stand a chance against Ragnar, as he would easily out class two common bandits, they would only hamper Mark in this fight. So he held back and studied his opponent. _

_The first thing he noticed was that Ragnar was noticeably smaller than Mark remembered. While the brute still towered over the bandits he was fighting, he has lost a small amount of the muscle mass that once added to the intimidation he imposed on his opponents. Mark attributed this to months, maybe years, of sitting on his "throne," letting others do his dirty work while he reaped the benefits. As Mark wondered if Ragnar's strength was greatly affected by his recent lethargy, the Bandit King swung his massive sword through the guard of one of the axe men and cut through his chest. The bandit's body went limp, effectively answering Mark's question. Ragnar turned to the other warrior, blocking his downward strike while holding his sword with one hand. He shot his other hand forward and grasped the smaller bandit's throat. The bandit dropped his axe and tried to pry Ragnar's hand off his neck as the brute lifted him off the ground and then slammed him into the dirt, even further answering Mark's question. As Ragnar turned to face Mark, the former mercenary lifted his blade and prepared for the Bandit King's charge. _

_To Mark's surprise, Ragnar addressed him, "I don't know who you bastards think you are, but I'm going to rip each and every last one of you apart myself before I let you interfere with my plans." Ragnar spat out, his voice dripping with rage. _

"_Well as you can see, Your Highness," Mark theatrically lifted his arm, gesturing to the burning camp around them, "we've done quite a bit to interfere with your plans already."_

_Just as Mark anticipated, Ragnar roared in anger and charged. The former arena champion waited until the very last second before leaping to the side, dodging Ragnar's downward strike. Mark rolled on his shoulders allowing him to land on his feet, behind his burly opponent. Ragnar recovered quickly and turned around just in time to block a horizontal strike aimed at his hip. The colossal brigand pushed Mark's blade off his own and thrust his sword forward, aiming at the younger man's chest. Mark's quickly redirected Ragnar's stab attempt and tried to move passed the larger man's guard. The Bandit King recognized Mark's tactic, took one arm off of his fleeting sword, and swung a closed fist into the former mercenary's stomach. Mark grunted as he was sent several feet away from his opponent. Luckily he kept his balance and stayed on his feet. He quickly looked back up to see Ragnar ready to strike at him again._

_The two combatants re-engaged in a series of swings and parries, both showing remarkable swordsmanship. Mark did his best to use his superior speed to stay on the offensive. He managed to score a few glancing blows on his opponent but they had very little effect on the hulking bandit due to his adrenaline fueled rage. Mark flipped back several feet, gaining the distance needed to dodge a powerful strike from Ragnar. He landed and readied himself for his opponent's next charge, only to see Ragnar standing where he was when he last swung his sword._

_Breathing heavily, Ragnar addressed his opponent, "You're good kid, too good to be a simple bandit." Mark narrowed his eyes but stayed silent as Ragnar's smirk grew. "What are they paying you? Is that what you want? Money? I can give you more than money, I can give you power. Join me and you'll be my right hand. No one could stop the two of us."_

_Mark stared at the Bandit King emotionlessly. He could see what Ragnar was trying to do and the sheer audacity of this man to assume that this was about money caused the arena champion to lose his composure. "You think this is about money!? You think that I've spent the last four years of my life training, preparing for this moment because I wanted to get paid!? I'm here to do one thing; kill you for what you did to me!"_

_Ragnar's smirk quickly turned into a scowl as he narrowed his eyes at the former mercenary. "Who are you?"_

_Mark took a deep breath before answering, "My name is Mark. I am the son of Isaac of Ilia. 4 years ago you killed my father and let me live to tell your tale. I'm going to kill you before you have a chance to regret that decision."_

_With a shout, Mark charged at the larger man and re-engaged with a fury he didn't know he was capable of. Ragnar did his best to block the flurry of strikes that Mark sent his way, but his inferior speed made it impossible to parry them all. Mark scored several cuts on his opponent's legs and arms, each one deeper than the last. Rangar had to act fast before Mark would hit a critical blow. The Bandit King stepped back, gaining enough distance to be out of Mark's reach, but still keep his opponent within his own. He reared back and swung at Mark with all his might. _

_In his fury induced attack, Mark had lost all semblance of strategy and only realized this when Ragnar swung his heavy claymore at Mark. With no time to dodge, Mark positioned his sword in an attempt to block the powerful strike. His attempt failed as his own sword flew out of his hands because of the sheer strength in the attack. Mark acted quickly and did a series of back handsprings to distance himself from his opponent. After gaining sufficient distance, Mark looked back to Ragnar and saw the brute limping towards him, being slowed by one of his recent strikes. _

"_You should have taken advantage of my mercy, boy." Ragnar taunted as he made his way to his unarmed opponent, "I won't be showing you any mercy this time."_

_Mark panicked as he tried to think of a way combat the bandit trudging towards him. He felt around his waist and found his mother's dagger still fastened to his hip. He quickly unsheathed the side arm and instinctively launched it at his opponent. Before he could react, the dagger imbedded itself into Ragnar's left shoulder. The brigand howled and dropped his sword in pain. Mark saw his opportunity and immediately sprinted towards the hulking bandit. Mark jumped in the air and drove his legs forward with all his might, drop kicking Ragnar square in the chest. The colossal man toppled over, dagger still bored in his shoulder. Mark landed on his back and quickly sprung himself back up. Seeing Ragnar's blade on the ground, within reach, Mark swiftly grabbed the sword and advanced toward the bandit as he lifted himself form the dirt._

_Before Ragnar could stand from his current kneeling position, more pain erupted from his abdomen as his eyes were greeted to the sight of his own sword trough his stomach. He looked up to see Mark's furious expression only a foot from his own face. Ragnar coughed out blood, as his world began to fade around him, still in shock at what had just transpired. The disbelief would prove to be his final thought as Ragnar, the Bandit King, knew no more._

_Mark watched his opponent's eyes roll back before letting go of the sword and allowing the body to fall into a heap on the ground. For what felt like hours, Mark stayed still and stared at the corpse he had just produced. Finally, Mark closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and took his dagger our from Ragnar's body, wiping the blood off blade before sheathing it again. He took one last look at the former bane of his existence before retrieving his sword and returning to the fray._

* * *

"With Ragnar dead, his bandits lacked the needed leadership to effectively fight off our attack. The ones that didn't retreat were killed off pretty quickly. Before we knew it, the camp was clear and we had won," finished Mark.

Eliwood leaned forward and smiled, having silently cheered on his friend throughout his story. In his current emotional state, it did Eliwood good to hear Mark's revenge tale end successfully. It gave him hope. "You must have had quite the celebration afterward," Eliwood reckoned.

The strategist chucked and smiled solemnly. "You know when I first looked at Ragnar's corpse," answered Mark, "I wasn't sure what to feel. I had quite a few emotions running through my mind; relief, excitement, pensiveness, shock, pride. I suppose most of all I felt complete. I made my life goal to avenge my father and I did it."

The young Marquess nodded his head in understanding, noting a sight discrepancy in his friend's tone in relation to what he described. He had achieved his life goal. He should be happy, yet he spoke somewhat somberly. Eliwood pushed those thoughts aside, assuming Mark was simply reminiscent of the past, and turned back to Mark's story. "So what happened to the rest of the bandits under Rangar's rule? Did anyone take Ragnar's place?"

"No." Mark replied, shaking his head, "Some of his lieutenants tried but they essentially just caused hostilities amongst each other which divided them even further. That was expected by the Taliver so when we were finished with the attack, we just went back to Bern and left the remnants of Ragnar's army to kill themselves."

Eliwood leaned back and took in the entirety of Mark's tale. "Well my friend, you've lived quite a violent life," the tactician shrugged from across the table and Eliwood continued, "but it's nothing you really need to hide this from us. I mean, I get that you probably hung around some shady characters and you worked with bandits but you didn't do anything so egregious that we couldn't know."

Tightly closing his eyes, Mark took in a sharp breath. "The story's not over Eliwood," Mark stated gruffly. He paused before opening his eyes, "After the battle, I had impressed the Taliver so much that they wanted me to stay with them."

Eliwood could see where this was headed but wouldn't allow himself to believe it. "You turned them down, right?"

Mark turned away from the young lord and stared off into the distance before continuing. "You don't understand, Eliwood. When I said I had achieved my life goal, I meant it. In the years after my father's death, avenging him was my only focus. I made my goal of killing Ragnar the only thing that mattered to me. I didn't make friends. I didn't court any women; in fact the only women I had any kind of meaningful contact with were prostitutes at the arenas. Any money I made was immediately spent on new weapons, armor, food, and other things to just keep me alive. So when I finally did avenge my father, I had no purpose. I wasn't even twenty one years old and I had nothing left to live for. When the Taliver asked me to stay, I had no reason to say no. I wasn't exactly close with any of them in particular but I had fought alongside them for a few months and had developed at least a semblance of camaraderie with them. I agreed and I became a full-fledged bandit."

The young lord grimaced with the realization that his fears were correct. Before this day, Eliwood could have never imagined that someone so intelligent and mild mannered as Mark was a bandit earlier in his life.

Before Eliwood could ask another question, he heard a bitter laugh from his friend. "It's beyond ironic really," Mark stated with no small amount of contempt, "In my quest to avenge my father, I had become the very thing he fought against for his whole life. I became what killed him and I didn't even think about it. I barely thought about anything."

"It was all just a blur," the tactician continued, still staring into the fire place. "I didn't care what I took, who I hurt. I was a mindless husk, blindly following the rest of the bandits as we terrorized the populous around us. Pillaging towns, killing innocent people, I did it all. I took anything that caught my eye and hurt anyone that got in my way. This went on for months before I finally saw what I was doing, before I realized how horribly I disgraced my father's memory."

Eliwood brought his hand to his mouth, still not wanting to believe what he was hearing. He wasn't sure what he expected to hear when Mark said he agreed to the Taliver's offer. The optimist in him asserted that Mark could have only been a bandit for a short time, not being involved in any truly heinous acts. Lately however, the optimist in him was proven wrong more times than not. The silver lining was that Mark had eventually seen the error of his ways. Before Eliwood could inquire on how, cogs began turning in the young lord's mind. Eliwood knew Mark to be twenty two years old. As just stated, Mark was twenty, nearing twenty one, when he killed Ragnar meaning he joined the Taliver less than two years ago. A year and some odd months ago, Mark had met Lyn. Not long before that, a very significant event transpired involving Lyn and the Taliver. If Eliwood's math and his recently found inner pessimist were correct, Mark's tenure with the Taliver coincided with that event.

"Were…" Eliwood stuttered, speaking just above a whisper, "were you part of the attack on the Lorca?"

"No!" asserted Mark, snapping his gaze back to the red-headed lord. Mark opened his mouth to say more but stopped himself, realizing how riled up his friend's accusation had made him. The tactician calmed himself for a moment before speaking again. "No, thank god I wasn't. I had left the Taliver before the attack on the Lorca, days before, as it would turn out." Mark hung his head and began to shake it. "I'll be honest though, had I still been with them, I probably would have been part of the attack and I wouldn't have given it a second thought."

Eliwood released a breath he had been holding while waiting for Mark's answer. Had his fears been true, he wouldn't be sure how to react. One thing's for sure, he would have advised his friend to never tell Lyn this story. Ever. Thankfully, his inner optimist was correct this time.

"So what snapped you out of it?" Eliwood asked, changing the subject.

"We attacked a merchant convoy outside of Bulgar, well, slaughtered is a better way to describe it," Mark explained as he lifted his head to meet his friend's gaze, "in aftermath of the attack, I was looting the bodies of the merchants when I found something that finally forced me to wake up and see what I had been doing…"

* * *

_Bringing his sword down, Mark slashed through the unarmed man in front of him. He thinks he heard the man cry out for mercy before he was cut down but the former arena champion didn't really care enough to listen. The man was just another body on the ground now._

_Mark stood up straight and looked at the landscape around him. The road he and his squad ambushed the merchants on was now stained red, the bodies of said merchants littered throughout the road. The series of wagons the merchants came in were now cleared of any people inside them. Mark looked to Doran, his quote-unquote captain in the ambush, who gave him a toothy grin before addressing him and the rest of the bandit squad, "Alright men, good work. Let's start unloading these wagons._ _Mark, Bazab, you two to sort through the bodies and see if they have anything valuable on them." _

_Mark nodded and turned back to the corpses that littered the road. He started with the few mercenaries that the merchants had hired to protect them. They had a few decent quality swords on them, as well as some serviceable armor. All of this could be valuable to the clan so he relieved the mercenaries of their armaments. He then moved on to the merchants themselves. In Mark's experience, most traders kept their wares inside chests and cases in their wagons, while keeping gold and other smaller products on their person._

_After looting the body of a jeweler, he moved over to a man with a white robe. Looking closer, Mark apathetically noted that this was an Elimine monk. This wasn't the first time Mark's bandit group had slain an Etrurian clergyman and normally Mark would simply pass up the body of a monk since he knew there wouldn't be anything of value on the body. All monks in the Elimine church relinquished all material possessions when they entered the clergy, Mark knew that, however something in Mark's mind told him to look anyway. See no reason why not to, Mark indulged his curiosity and found a simple leather bound book in the monk's inner robe pocket. He opened the book and skimmed through its content, unsurprisingly finding that it was an Elimine prayer book. _

'_Looks like the one Father had,' he offhandedly observed. _

_The brown haired bandit froze in place, digesting the thought that had just floated through his mind. 'My father…' he repeated in his mind. Mark was suddenly flooded with memories, all of which depicted an event that occurred during his tenure as a member of the Taliver. He saw memories showing innocent men he's run his sword through, valuable items he's pilfered from the corpses of his victims, and all other sorts of heinous acts he had committed after avenging his departed father and becoming part of the most ruthless bandit clan on the continent. All throughout, Mark stood in disbelief that he was truly capable of such acts. _

"_Oh my god," Mark choked out before bring his free hand to his mouth. _

"_Mark!"_

_Mark jerked his head back to see Doran and the rest of his squad waiting for him. He must have been staring at the book for a good while. They were already finished gathering up all the valuable good from the convoy. He quickly dropped the book and jogged to his squad and haled a sack of loot onto his shoulder. Regardless of whether he wanted it to, his mind would not leave the thought of the prayer book and what his father would have thought of him and his current lifestyle. It was a long walk back to camp. _

* * *

"Looking back at it, it's kind of pathetic really." Mark stated as he stared off into the distance, "All that time I was doing all of these terrible things without even once thinking of the ramifications of my actions and all it took was a simple book to break me out of my murderous trance." Mark finished, shaking his head and running his hand down his face. "What I would have given to have found that book earlier..."

Eliwood stayed quiet for a moment. While he was still shocked to know that one of his closest allies was once such a villain, he could see how Mark had true, intense regret for what he had did and that helped him distance the man sitting across from the table from the man Mark has been describing. He knew Mark was a changed man and Eliwood refused hold his friends past over him.

"At least you did find it," Eliwood finally started, trying to apply his trademark optimism, "imagine what would have happened if you didn't."

Mark nodded in agreement but otherwise didn't comment on Eliwood's attempt to cheer him up. He instead continued his story. "So that night I decided I couldn't stay with the Taliver anymore. I packed up what possessions I had and got the hell out of there. Didn't tell anyone I was leaving, just up and left. I wonder what their thoughts were then they found my empty tent that morning. They probably didn't care anyway. More loot for them." Mark spat out bitterly. "But I digress, it only took me until the middle of the next day to get to Bulgar and once I was there, I sold pretty much everything I had brought with me. My sword, my armor, all the random artifacts I stole from people in my time as a bandit, I sold it all. I used some of the money to buy a traveler's cloak." Mark gestured to his green cloak on the wooden rack, indicating it was the same cloak, "That way I could hide my face so no one would recognize me from any of my previous lives."

The red haired lord pointed to the silver dagger on Mark's hip, "Couldn't sell your dagger?"

Mark looked down solemnly at the blade, "I was about to but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It's all I have left of my parents. As much as I've disgraced them with my actions, I had to have something to remind me of what I was before I became a monster."

Looking back to his friend across the table, the tactician continued, "I spent the next few weeks just drifting around the city, blending in with the crowds of travelers and other vagrants. I heard someone talking about the Lorca attack in passing one day. I didn't think too much of it at time, didn't think too much of anything really, it was just another bandit attack on an innocent group of people. Nothing I hadn't heard or been a part of before."

The Marquees nodded at his friend before chiming in again. "So what did you with the rest of the money you got? That cloak couldn't have cost that much."

Mark turned away from Eliwood and focused on his hanging cloak. "I don't know, Eliwood. That's a really nice cloak," he replied, smirking as he turned back to his friend. Only to be met with a deadpanned expression from his read headed friend. Mark brushed off Eliwood's poor sense of humor and went on, "One of the first things I learned after joining the Taliver was how to pickpocket. I used that skill to reverse pickpocket random people on the street and give them an extra gold or two. Otherwise I spent most of my money on food; for me and for other vagrants around the city."

"You said you only stayed there for a few weeks. What made you leave? Didn't you make any friends?" asked Eliwood.

'Not really," answered Mark, shrugging his shoulders, "I didn't really talk to anyone. At most I'd make idle chit chat with other outcasts as I'd eat with them. I tried to keep to myself because I was afraid people would recognize me. I was pretty popular in Bulgar during my time as an arena fighter." Mark shifted in his chair before proceeding. "After I ran out of money, I just decided it was time to leave. I picked a random direction, turns out I picked east, and started walking. Before I knew it, I found myself wandering the plains of Sacae. I stuck close to rivers so that I could have an easy source of water and game to hunt. Not that I would eat a lot, a fish a day maybe. My mind was mostly occupied with self-loathing and guilt so eating was always at the back of my mind. I did that for about a week or so until forgot to eat for a couple days and ventured a little too far from the river. I passed out and collapsed on a random hill in the middle of nowhere."

The strategist laughed out loud as he continued, "Heh! Next thing I know, I'm lying in a warm bed with a beautiful girl standing at the end of that bed, holding a plate of delicious smelling food, telling me she found me on the plains, and brought me to her home to resuscitate me."

"You must have thought you'd died and gone to heaven," interjected a grinning Eliwood.

"Honestly, for a minute, I did." Both men stayed silent for a moment before throwing their heads back in laughter. The jovial cackling went on for several moments as the friends reveled in the new lightness that has overcome them after nearly an hour of somber conversation. As the laughter died down, Mark re-started the conversation. "It wasn't until Lyn told me she was a Lorcan did I realized I was certainly not in heaven. Then Lyn said she heard bandits outside, and for a second I mused whether or not I actually had died but had gone to hell instead. Now that I think about it, that's actually the moment I sort of _became_ a tactician."

The young lord's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Mark's eyes became unfocused as he recalled the memory, "When Lyn said she was going to go out and fight the bandits, I wanted to help her more than anything but I didn't know how to go about it without risking giving away that I was a bandit, if I did she probably would have killed me. I was still too disgusted with myself to say I was a mercenary, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I said I was a tactician and I could give her advice on how to beat the bandits. I did, she killed the bandits, and I gained her trust. Afterwards, Lyn asked if she could travel with me as my 'peerless warrior' and against my better judgment, I agreed. Little did I know I would be commanding a small legion in a blood feud over the throne of Caelin within a few months. Although I suppose nothing should come as a surprise considering my life."

Eliwood chuckled at Mark's oversimplification of his campaign against Lyn's great uncle. "You know I should be a little disturbed that you weren't actually a tactician but really I'm just more impressed. How did you do it?" he asked, voicing his thoughts.

"Well it was a combination of several things," Mark explained. "It helped immensely that most of our early opponents were bandits and if there's one thing I know how to do, its kill bandits. By the time we faced any formal military force, I had started to get a knack for being a strategist. I'm also very perceptive and being able to see all the little details during a battle can really add up and make a huge difference. And while that gives me a bit of an edge, it still doesn't make up for my complete lack of formal training. So to compensate, I do this…" Mark spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the table covered in a sea of paper, "I prepare endlessly for every possible scenario I can think of. I feel that if I'm prepared, I'll never be caught off guard. I'm afraid that if I don't prepare my inexperience and lack of proper schooling will be my undoing. I'm afraid that my lie will be discovered or worse, I'll fail. That can't happen."

"Is that why you left Caelin? Because you were afraid you'd be discovered?" inquired Eliwood.

The strategist nodded. "I knew after we defeated Ludgren, Lord Hausen would offer me a position as a tactician with the Caelin knights but I knew that if I actually tried to plan out a strategy with real tacticians they would immediately peg me as a fraud. So instead of being chased out of Caelin, I figured I'd leave and let everyone keep believing me to be a random enigmatic strategist."

"You said earlier that you went to Etruria after leaving Caelin," recalled the Marquees. "What did you do there?"

"Well after I left, I went to visit my father's grave and during the whole trip I pondered what I wanted to do with the rest of my life." Mark lightly chucked before continuing, "Even though I left an opportunity to be one, I liked being a tactician and it turned out I was pretty good at it. So I got in contact with some of the nobles my father had worked for and asked them if I could have access to their libraries. Luckily, none of them knew what happened to me after my father died so they were more than happy to accommodate me. Thanks to them, I gave myself an unofficial education. I read books on military strategy, military history, weapons, geography, really anything I thought could be useful to me. I also had a chance to talk to some real tacticians and get some advice. After several months I just ran out of books to read and other tacticians to talk to. I figured there was only so much I could learn in a library anyway, so I left Etruria and I ended up in Pharae. I was actually on my way to Bern when we met up."

"Why Bern?" asked Eliwood. "You were already fairly well known in Lyncia. You could've easily gotten work as a tactician here."

"Well for one, I was still a little hesitant to settle too close to Caelin," replied Mark. "But the main reason I was going there was that I was hoping to influence the Bernese military to be a little more active when it came to fighting off bandits. Like I said earlier, they're notorious for not responding to bandit activity and I was hoping to change that. I'm not sure how effective I would have been but that's what I would've tried to do. Regardless, you got to me first and you know the rest." Mark stated as he leaned back in his chair.

The two comrades shared a few moments of comfortable silence before Mark spoke again, "So that's my story. I'm a born and raised mercenary, turned arena fighter, then bandit, then drifter, and now I'm a tactician."

Eliwood let out single chuckle at the tactician's over-simplification of his own life and stayed leaned back in his chair for several moments as he digested the entirety of Mark's tale. After a sigh, the Marquees ran his hand over his face. "Well my friend, I can tell you with a great degree of certainty that I never expected anything quite like that," Eliwood stated, voicing his thoughts. "I would have never imagined that you would have lived such a tumultuous life. You always seemed like a very happy person."

"Truthfully, I am," Mark proclaimed while flashing a smile. "While my past still haunts me, there's nothing that I could be doing right now that's more important than helping you and the others to stop Nergal." The tactician looked out into space for a moment before reestablishing eye contact with his friend. "For the first time since my father died, I'm certain I'm doing the right thing." Mark paused before speaking once again, "If you'll still have me, of course. I'd understand if you didn't want me anymore."

The young Lord returned the strategist's gaze. "Mark, it doesn't make any difference to me who you once were because I know who you are now. You've proven yourself to be the best tactician on the continent and even beside that, you're my friend," Elidwood assured, "I wouldn't have anyone else but you lead our troops against Nergal."

Mark beamed as he looked away from Eliwood as he wiped away the fluid that began collecting on his eye lids. "Thank you Eliwood," He managed to choke out.

A comfortable silence settled upon the room as Eliwood allowed Mark to recompose himself in peace. This silence lasted for a shot time until Mark took a heavy breath and began the conversation again. "You know I actually feel a little better now. About sharing my past, I mean. I've kept it in so long. It feels good to let it out."

"That's great. You know what would make you feel even better? Telling other people, particularly Lyn" Eliwood knew what Mark's answer to this would likely be but he felt the need to at least suggest it.

Unsurprisingly, Mark's smile faded at Eliwood's suggestion. "I can't do that, especially not Lyn. For her to know what I was, what I would have done if I had stayed with the Taliver even for another week, that I had fooled her into believing I was a tactician, causing her to trust her life to my orders, it would devastate her." The tactician asserted. "And I know this is going to sound a bit cold but it would also distract her on the battlefield and potentially even make her question my orders, as could every member of our forces if they knew of my past. Her not having a clear mind would be dangerous for her and her skills being in anyway diminished would be detrimental to the army as a whole. There are just more important things for me to worry about right now than sharing my secrets. Trust me, the last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt Lyn but her and everyone else being blissfully ignorant of my past is best. "

As much as Eliwood didn't want to agree, he couldn't argue Mark's last point about what learning of his past would do to Lyn on the battlefield. Not surprisingly, it seemed Mark had thought out that particular scenario quite a bit. Eliwood however, wouldn't give up that easily. "Alright fine, tell her after we stop Nergal."

Mark brought his hands up and dragged them over his face. "Eliwood this isn't-"

"Look Mark," Eliwood interrupted, "Lyn isn't stupid. I'd wager that by now she can tell you're hiding something from her and I'm sure the fact that you're keeping secrets is causing her pain regardless. I won't argue with you about telling her now. You're right, it isn't the proper time but you have to tell her eventually. We all can see how close the two of you are. She cares about you immensely and you obviously care about her just as much. You can't lie to her forever. It's tormenting both of you. You have to tell her."

The tactician hung his head and stayed silent for several moments. "What if she hates me," he murmured to the papers directly below him.

Eliwood tapped his fingers on the wooden table while trying to think of an appropriate response. "I can't guarantee she won't," he finally voiced, causing Mark to sink his head a little lower. "Lyn has shown the ability to hold a grudge, but the way you've told me about your past showed me just how much you truly regret your past actions. If you show her the same remorse that you've shown me, she'll understand that you aren't that person anymore and she'll forgive you for hiding your past from her. Maybe not at first but eventually she will."

Mark lifted his head and looked across the table to see Eliwood's determined face. He clearly wasn't going to let this go and what he was saying made sense as much as Mark wanted to disagree. Mark ran his hands over his face and groaned. "Ugh. Damn you and your unrelenting optimism."

"So you'll tell her?" Eliwood asked with a smug smile plastered on his face.

"If we defeat Nergal, and that's a big if, then I will tell her. However," Mark stated sternly, attempting to curb Eliwood's enthusiasm, "if she doesn't take it well as you say she will, I'm telling her you knew all along and kept it from her too."

The Marquees' smile remained on his face, unfazed by his friend's threat. "Well I guess the two of us will have to hide out here in the castle to escape Lyn's wrath. Don't worry; I know plenty of good hiding spots. She'll never find us."

Eliwood kept his pompous grin plastered on his face as Mark brought his hand to his temple, shaking his head while chuckling at Eliwood's response to his treat. The tactician's chuckle quickly grew to a full out laughter, causing Eliwood to lose his composure and begin laughing as well. The two comrade's uproarious outburst continued on with no end in sight to the friend's shared mirth. Finally the laughter began to die down as both men attempted to catch their breath.

While he collected himself, Eliwood let out a long yawn and became aware of how long he had been conversing with Mark. The young lord stretched out his arms and began to stand up out of his seat. "Well my friend, this has been quite the history lesson but I think it's time I retire for the night," he voiced as he came to a full stand and stuck out his hand toward his companion.

Mark mirrored Eliwood's standing motion and grasped his out stretched forearm and nodded. "Of course. Maybe next time you can share with me your deepest and darkest secrets," he teased with a smile.

Both men released the other from their hold and Eliwood matched Mark's smirk. "We'll see." Eliwood then turned and began walking back to the door. After taking a few steps, the Marquees turned back to see Mark already getting back into his chair. "You know you should probably get some sleep yourself."

The tactician completed his sitting motion and looked back up to his comrade with a smile. "I'll work on that."

Eliwood chuckled and shook his head as he restarted his walk out of the room. "Good night Mark," he called over his shoulder.

"Good night Eliwood."

The red headed lord stepped out of the room and began his trek through his castle. As he walked down the corridor, Eliwood could hear the fading sounds of rustling papers coming out of Mark's room once again.

After several twist and turns, Eliwood returned to his room and immediately moved toward his bed. Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, Eliwood found himself in a deep and comfortable sleep. The first he's had in months.

_Fin_

* * *

**A/N:** You guys have no idea how good it feels to finish this. I started writing this in February of 2012 and I thought this was going to be maybe a like 6,000 word one-shot. As you can see, it turned into a 17,000 word two-shot and I had to cut out a decent portion of my original idea of the story. After nearly two years, I'm finally finished.

One of the reviewers of last chapter pointed out that the beginning of Mark's story is similar to that of Ike's from Path of Radiance. They're right and I find very odd because I honestly didn't think of that while I was writing this. Mark's story is actually inspired by the first part of one of my favorite video games, Fable. Funny how that worked out.

Anyway, thank you for reading my interpretation of Mark's past. I hope this story inspires other people to do the same and share their visions for what Mark's past was. There really aren't enough FE7 Tactician stories out there and that's exactly why I made this one. So venture forth and share with us your interpretation of the Tactician. Remember though; name your tacticians Mark.

Thank you again and have a fantastic day.


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